


Let the Right One In

by L1av



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Anal Sex, Angst, BDSM, Biting, Blood Drinking, Blood Kink, Blow Jobs, Bondage, Caning, Coming Untouched, Depressed Steve Rogers, Dystopia, Explicit Sexual Content, Falling In Love, Forced Orgasm, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Power Play, Priest!Steve, Protective Bucky Barnes, Protective Steve Rogers, Rimming, Switch Bucky Barnes, Vampire!Bucky, Virgin Steve Rogers, blood disease, switch steve rogers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-03
Updated: 2018-06-03
Packaged: 2019-05-17 19:26:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14837747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/L1av/pseuds/L1av
Summary: A vampire running from his crimes. A priest with a deadly secret.They say it's bad luck to drink blood from a priest. Bucky will learn just how bad--and take Steve along with him.





	Let the Right One In

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Umikkchann](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Umikkchann/gifts).



> This work was created with the permission of [Umikkchann](http://umikochannart.tumblr.com/) based on her vampire!Bucky and priest!Steve comics. Her vampire!Bucky tag is right [[HERE]](http://umikochannart.tumblr.com/tagged/vampire%21bucky)! Please devour all of it and fall into The Feels(TM) with me. 
> 
> Thank you Umi for letting me base a story on your comic works! I really hope the story brings you joy and encourages more vampire!Buck with his beautiful priest!Steve ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)
> 
>  **Additional Warning:** This fic has light mentions to a past relationship with Peggy Carter and Steve.

Steve opened the church doors, looking out at the overcast skies. Rain was on the horizon. He could smell it in the foggy air hanging around him, humid and chilled, like sweaty hands on a cold morning. He stepped back into the church, the wooden, old floors creaking. Sunday. He wore his robes, prepared to make a sermon for any who came. Any. Who came. Human or vampire, Steve didn’t care.

He sighed, still looking out into the world beyond his doors. Homes were abandoned. Trees grew wildly into old telephone lines, twisting up like a girl with unkempt hair. Steve turned toward the altar. He walked the wooden pews, careful to notice if a prayer book was out of place. He tucked them up, nice and tidy. He stood at the base of the altar and genuflected before approaching it. When he turned around and looked out at his open doors, no one was there.

No one had come in months. Or perhaps it was years. The world grew different, day by day. Humans died or turned to vampires at a rate astronomical to Steve. He’d watched it all on the news until the news simply stopped. Last he’d heard at the grocery (run by a vampire), a team of vampires were going to reboot the news system. The world was changing, religion that was once respected and cherished had been cast aside. Humans, once bountiful, were rare now. Steve sat down on the stairs and watched the empty church. He shrugged to himself. At least he’d tried.

He’d gone to change shortly after. He wore his clerical collar, fastening it behind his neck and then tucking it into the black of his button-down shirt. He came back into the church’s halls. Brows rising, Steve paused at the side of the pulpit. He couldn’t tell if the person sitting in the pews was human or not, but vampires had always stayed away from his church. He’d once spoken to a vampire on the street when he’d gone to get groceries. She’d said it was bad luck to drink from a priest. Steve didn’t know if that still applied now that most were vampire or dead.

“Hello,” Steve said.

The person, a vampire by the soft glow of red in his eyes, looked up. His hair was long and shaggy around his face, jaw adorned with carefree shadow. Steve could see his fangs just barely pressing into his pouted bottom lip.

“I didn’t hold a sermon today.” Steve moved over to the altar and ran his fingers along the fine fabric he’d placed there early in the morning. “Seems I don’t have a flock to tend to.”

The vampire blinked, his head tilting to the side. “You know you’re the last human in this town, right Father?”

Steve’s heart sank. He knew it was only a matter of time before the vampires grew hungrier. Bad luck to drink from a priest? Steve knew the warning would fall flat one day. He looked up at the stained-glass windows, the overcast light from outside barely penetrating them. Most of the church was cast in shadow or lit with candlelight. 

“Did you come to kill me?” Steve asked. He didn’t want to die. He didn’t know what he had to live for anymore, but he knew he didn’t want to die. “Or turn me?”

The vampire licked his lips slowly, his eyes glowing brighter. He stood, broad shoulders and a thick neck. There was no refined beauty in this man. He was power incarnate, a body built from war and anger. Beauty wasn’t the appropriate name. Perfection. He was perfection.

Steve leaned against the altar, his fingers grasping it. Would it hurt? Would it be quick? He wasn’t sure. One by one, his friends were either killed or turned to vampires themselves. Sam was the last to turn. One by one, they all stopped showing up at his church. His church in an abandoned town full of forsaken people. Steve wasn’t all too convinced he hadn’t been forsaken too.

“I ain’t here to kill you, Father.” The vampire’s voice was deep, a rumble in his chest that vibrated up Steve’s legs and into his stomach. “I came to pray.”

Steve blinked, utterly caught off guard. He descended the pulpit and slipped into the pew in front of the vampire. “Do you have a name?”

“Bucky.”

“I’m Steve. Nice to meet you.” Steve smiled, but it wasn’t returned by Bucky. There was a tenseness in Bucky’s shoulders, a strain in his neck. He kept looking over his shoulder. Steve knew a man running from his troubles when he saw one. He slipped out of the pew and went back to the open doors and closed them. Their groans echoed in the tall church, a crescendo covering every corner. Steve pulled the metal locks across the door and began doing up the deadbolts. Vampires may not have attacked him yet, but he didn’t put it past them to try. He smirked, looking down at the last deadbolt. He’d locked himself inside with a vampire. Why be afraid of the outside when it was what was inside that could hurt Steve? Let the right one in...

He turned, scratching at his flushing neck. He could feel a headache coming on, one he’d rather lie down and drink a gratuitous amount of wine to abed. Still, he smiled at Bucky and did his best not to realize his mistake when he’d locked himself inside with a vampire.

“What do you need to pray for?” Steve asked. He walked down the pews. If this was to be his death, he didn’t want to go kicking and screaming.

“Forgiveness,” Bucky said.

Steve sat next to Bucky and took his chilled hand. He could feel his own pulse and knew Bucky could too. Bucky could hear the rush of Steve’s blood in his veins, he was a vampire afterall.

“Tell me,” Steve said.

“I killed someone I didn’t wanna kill. I mean—I didn’t mean to. It was an accident.”

Steve leaned back, his hand still grasping Bucky’s. “Human?”

“Yes.”

From what Steve knew about vampires, humans were now regarded as prized possessions. Sacred objects with valuable goods inside. The wealthier a vampire was, the more humans they had in their control. Killing a human wasn’t legal—killing anyone in human or vampire society had never been legal. It all spawned from human law and human law allowed no killing. But vampires ravaged the earth and turned people, killed people. Tortured and maimed people. Only now, with vampires taking their seat at the top of the food chain and reclaiming what was once a collapsed earth, only now did order begin to set itself again. Not that Steve was at all safe in a town where he was the only human. Humans broke laws—what made vampires any different?

“Was there consent to drink?” Steve asked.

“Look, it was a mistake okay? I was—I was starving.”

“Most vampires are starving. Not enough humans to go around anymore.” Steve knew he was pushing, but a confession like this wasn’t—normal, per se. No one came to his church, let alone a vampire. The act of a vampire setting foot inside a holy place when they’d all ignored Steve and his church before, it was somehow both exciting and terrifying. What made a vampire so desperate to step on sacred ground?

“No—not that kind. The kind that someone throws you into a cell and doesn’t let you out until you’re barely even what you used to be. I got really messed up. I lost who I was and I just—I needed to feed.”

Steve winced. He broke his hold on Bucky’s hand and pinched his head, the world around him grinding up his skull and shoving it through spaces it couldn’t fit.

“Woah, hey, hey, Father? You okay?”

Steve sat up, nodding. “Why were you in a cell?” He squinted, his vision blurry. Not now. Steve wouldn’t leave someone in need when Bucky was crying out for help. To go to the church must have meant he didn’t have anyone else to go to. There was a thread that tied them together, both lonely souls, craving another. Bucky, in more ways than one. Steve could tell he was lonely from how he’d shook when Steve’s hand grasped his.

Bucky’s lips tightened. He looked away, pale face nearly glowing in the darkness of the church. “I shouldn’t be here. I can’t ask you to do this.”

“To do what?” Steve asked.

Bucky leaned forward, groaning. His sharp nails cut into the wooden pew before he scratched them down his hair. He stayed like that, hunched over and isolated from Steve—from the world. There was a sadness that wafted off him. It smelled like the rain on the horizon.

Steve put his hand on Bucky’s back. He wasn’t afraid of Bucky. He wasn’t afraid of the murder or the threat of his own death. If anything, and maybe this was because Steve hadn’t had someone to save in such a long time, Steve felt protective of Bucky. There was a broken person beside him, and Steve needed to do something about it. He’d held his doors open when the world crashed around him. He’d protected humans inside, together they had prayed. One by one, they had left. Whether it was because they’d given up, got too lonely, or needed to find their families, each one left. Steve left to wonder about their lives or if they too had become like the vampires that now inhabited the town. Or perhaps they were dead.

“Bucky,” Steve said, “talk to me, please. I’m here to help.”

“What does a priest get for helping a vampire?” Bucky looked up through his hair, glowing red eyes that attempted to show anger and aggression. Steve saw right through them.

“I really don’t care what you are. You need my help.”

Bucky sighed, staring at his feet. He leaned back, his broad shoulders relaxing. “I murdered a girl. I was in a frenzy because—well it doesn’t matter anymore. I murdered a human child. Punishment for that is death, nothin’ around that.”

“It does matter why you were in a frenzy.” Steve furrowed his brow, watching the way Bucky wrung his hands—his clawed hands. The nails were so sharp that the tiniest scratch could puncture Steve’s skin. He looked down at his big blue veins and then back up at Bucky. What did it feel like to crave blood? A nigh-impossible sensation to abate. How long did it take for a vampire to go into a frenzy? Steve didn’t know the answers to these questions.

Bucky ran his tongue across his top lip, his eyes unfocused. He was reliving his own past, Steve could see the shadows as they crossed Bucky’s face. There was a tightening around the corners, crow’s feet growing. A tremble of the jaw. What made a vampire fear this much?

“It don’t matter no more,” Bucky said, a finality to his tone that sent shivers down Steve’s spine. “I killed someone. Now I’m wanted for it.”

“Well you’re hiding half your story,” Steve said, indignant.  “How’m I supposed to tell God to forgive your sins when you don’t tell me your story.”

Bucky looked at Steve, long and hard. His gaze was heavy, pushing against Steve’s body like a wave pushes at sand. Powerless, Steve let himself be swept up into it, his lips parted, his mind painfully aware of the heart beating beneath his chest.

“Father?” Bucky said.

Steve blinked, giving his head a little shake before lifting his brows, listening.

“Do you still believe in God? After all this? The end of the world you knew?”

Without hesitation, Steve answered, “Yes.” Faith was the only thing left from the world Steve knew. He looked out over the pews, remembering faces and names of the people who once came to worship here. Dugan, with his big boisterous laugh. Jones, with his shy smile and his green rosary. He remembered so many, all gone now. Dispersed, turned, dead. Steve didn’t know their fates, but he wished, if nothing else, they had been loved. All Steve’s life, he thought he only needed God’s love. Then the world changed. Even touching Bucky’s hand earlier, even that had stirred something in his mind.

“That’s good,” Bucky said. He leaned forward on his knees and his hair obstructed Steve’s view of his face. “S’good to know God’s not dead.”

“God’s—” But Steve didn’t get to finish his sentence. He reached out, clutching at the backside of a pew as his mind swam in a fog. His muscles, large, as he worked hard at them, turned to jelly against his bones. He gasped, trying to steady his beating heart.

“You don’t look so good, Father.”

“S-Steve. Just call me Steve,” Steve gritted out between his teeth. “I just need to lie down.”

“Need help?” Bucky asked.

Steve would ponder the motivations of a vampire later. For now though, he did need help. He leaned into Bucky’s cool body, grateful for the soothing chill that cascaded down his torso.

“Don’t move me. Not yet.”

“There ain’t no doctors no more.”

“I know,” Steve answered. He folded his hands on his stomach and stared up at the high ceiling. “I don’t need a doctor.”

Bucky frowned.

Steve lifted a wrist into the air and brought it close to Bucky’s face. He was playing with fire and he knew it. It was exhilarating in a way, a lust for something so dangerous. He could die by Bucky’s bite, but the lure of danger was what made Steve so brave.

 “I have—a condition. My body makes too many red blood cells. I need you to—drink from me.”

Bucky’s eyes widened. He jerked back, nostrils flaring. This wasn’t a monster, no matter if he was fire or not. Morality burned through him, a balm to the flames that lapped his soul—if a soul was still even inside him. Steve thought there was. He believed all vampires still had souls, how else would someone be themselves if not for the souls?

“You crazy?” Bucky asked with the sharp edge of a blade in his tone. “Did you just hear me talking about killin’ a girl earlier?”

“Please!” Steve would beg if he had to, he wasn’t proud in this regard. Priesthood taught him how to be humble, how to humiliate himself. He would absolutely beg if he had to. “It’ll help me, I swear.”

“I ain’t turnin’ you.”

“I don’t want to be turned. I just need you to drink.”

Bucky looked down at Steve’s offered wrist. The desperate desire in his eyes, an oil spill on fire, unpredictable and glorious. His lips parted and the tiniest of sounds escaped his throat—need.

“We could help each other. You need refuge. I need a phlebotomist or I guess just a vampire.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, muttering something about Steve under his breath. “What’d you do before? Couldn’t you just do that?”

“I cut myself and watched it drip into the bathroom sink. Wasn’t easy to get it flowing. Seems a waste now with you here.”

Bucky’s eyes tensed, rather, maybe his eyes were just joining the rest of his posture. He was all angles and hunched shoulders. Fire and ice, battling inside him. To bite or not. A war waged on. Steve prayed sympathy paired with desire would win in the end.

Steve lifted his wrist higher, his muscles quaking beneath the skin. His arm would give out soon if Bucky didn’t take hold. Drinking from a priest was bad luck. Steve licked his lips and thought of something to say.

“It’s only bad luck if you kill me,” Steve said. “You ain’t gonna kill me.”

“You don’t know that,” Bucky said, taking Steve’s wrist. He pressed a nail into the vein and the sting was brief. A surprisingly warm mouth latched onto his wrist and a soft tickling sensation blossomed around Steve’s wrist.

He watched, eyes hooded, breath panting. He wanted to take his other hand and run it through Bucky’s hair, but he didn’t want to scare Bucky. He smiled, scare a vampire? Steve could hardly scare anything with his priestly garb. He gasped, throwing his head back. He hadn’t felt _this_ in ages, since boyhood, even. His cock throbbed between his legs, an awakening that was almost violent. He’d neglected it, like any dutiful priest. Maybe at the end of the world, the rules didn’t matter anymore. It’s what made him human, desire, lust, longing.

Bucky drank from him the way many of Steve’s old congregation would take the blood of Christ. Eyes closed, face slack. Reverent. Cherished.

Steve did brush his fingers through Bucky’s hair. He smiled, twirling a finger into the soft, silken strands. Bucky’s hair was full—a tumbling of brown and caramel around his face. A curtain that elongated his nose and sharpened his cheeks. He was made of fire and iron and his hair was no exception.

Steve felt tired. He dropped his head against Bucky’s shoulder and closed his eyes. His skin no longer itched. His veins no longer burned. This was good. He could ride this pleasure for as long as Bucky let him. The softness of Bucky’s tongue guiding blood to his mouth. The way he held Steve’s wrist in his hands, soft and gentle. He smelled like almonds. Steve missed almonds. He’d been living off canned food for quite some time now. Vampires didn’t exactly tend to foods they could not eat. If Steve wanted almonds, he suspected he’d have to grow them one day.

“You good now?” Bucky asked, his voice sharp and husky. He looked at Steve with a flushed face, eyes red-rimmed and lips shimmering with Steve’s blood upon them. He quickly rubbed his arm over his lips to wipe the blood away.

“I feel like I’m not gonna explode, yeah.” Steve realized he was still pressed against Bucky’s side. He wasn’t sure if it was from the moment they’d just shared or if Steve hadn’t stopped to realize how touch starved he’d become. Ever since his congregation dispersed, whether to become a vampire or find a way to hide from them, Steve hadn’t touched anyone. No handshakes on Sunday. No hugs from friends or family. He’d been alone for—how long now? More than months. So much more. How many years had it been? It had to be years.

“I didn’t think I took that much from you. I didn’t even use teeth.” Bucky kept his body steady, allowing Steve to lean on him. It was an invitation that he gave freely, but under circumstances he didn’t truly understand. To him, he thought this was all about blood loss.

To Steve? To Steve it was so much more. He didn’t want it to end. But lying was a sin, and a personal least favorite in the forms of sins he would allow himself to get away with. It was up there with theft. Steve _hated_ thievery.  Steve did not feign weak because it would be a lie. He didn’t feel weak, only desperate.

“You didn’t,” Steve said, removing himself from Bucky’s side. “Sorry.”

“You’re good.” Bucky watched Steve with his glowing red irises, fiercer now with fresh blood in his veins. He had a blanket of black lashes that hugged his eyes. Everything about him read as sensual, seductive—dangerous.

Steve felt like an insect wandering into the jaws of a Venus Flytrap. Though, he had the senses to at least know he could be walking into a trap, it was just that he was too stubborn to believe it was one. Bucky hadn’t killed him, and now he still sat beside Steve. No rage. No frenzy. Just two people sitting on a church pew.

“Do you need any help back to you house?” Bucky asked.

Steve didn’t think it was a lie to say he did. He could walk on his own, certainly, but he didn’t want to. The feeling of a body beside his own, alive or not, was still a body. “Please,” he finally said.

Bucky hooked an arm around Steve’s back and helped him stand. Together, they made their way down the middle of the pews, up to the pulpit that Steve once thought beautiful. The room was tarnished at the carbon level. Light no longer seeping into the windows, but gray. It’d grown awash in dull hues, like weeds sprouting to decay a once colorful garden. The altar was still brown with its perfectly neat cream cloth above it. The cloth hung limply over the sides, spilling down to hover above the floor. The circle of stained glass images above that focused on Jesus on the cross in the middle. They were dark. Eyes sad as they looked down at the people below. A priest and a vampire.

Did God make vampires? Steve didn’t know. But could the devil? Steve always believed that if there was a heaven, there wasn’t actually proof there had to also be a hell. But then the dead came back to life as hungry, violent creatures. They feasted on the blood of their families and friends. They ravaged the world until hardly any humans remained. What could create something so sad? Steve did not fear vampires. He felt for them.

Bucky opened the door that led from the church and into a small, nondescript hallway, lit only by a candle. He looked at Steve with a cocked brow.

“S’open. I don’t lock it.”

Together they moved into the tiny house. Its decorations were only what Steve drew and hung up on the walls. There were a few pictures of his family, now all deceased. The living room had a beat up plaid couch and a mismatched coffee table. The TV was small yet functional. He used it to watch DVDs since cable companies were still fighting each other for dominance as the vampire’s new world order climbed over the ashes of the human world. Vampire politicians all trying to scream louder than the rest to dictate how to treat humans—how to treat _food_. Sometimes Steve was glad he lived in a mostly abandoned town with few vampires and no humans.

Bucky put Steve on the sofa and then stood by, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Thank you,” Steve said.

Bucky nodded. “Uh, nice place.” He pointed to a boarded-up window. “Don’t like sunlight?”

“Don’t like vampires trying to kill me while I sleep.”

Bucky sat on the corner of the coffee table. It groaned under his weight but he didn’t move. “We don’t kill priests.”

“I know that,” Steve said, looking at his wrist, “but there’s so few of us left.” Humans. Steve missed them. People who went for jogs across the street. Who waved at him as he walked to the grocery. People who knew him, loved him, cared for him. Yes, Steve missed so many of them. Their faces he missed as they faded into the darker vats of his mind. He could never quite remember his first love—Peggy Carter’s face. But he did remember brown eyes and red lips. He missed them so strongly it hurt.

“You think we’ll kill you because we’re starvin’?”

“If you all were in a frenzy, wouldn’t you?” Steve asked, eyes wide and vulnerable. He didn’t want to feel so afraid. Death wasn’t something he should fear, but he did all the same. It wasn’t meeting God that scared him, it was the pain of dying. He had to die to be dead, and that’s a journey that chilled him to the bone. He’d ready so many books about it. Being able to see yourself dying, the ringing or banging sound most heard, the light that took all fear away, that spoke without words. The goodness that surrounded you and comforted you. Steve had read all the books he could about the process of dying. But it still scared him to know he had to endure that confusion and uncertainty before the light would come to him and make it all better.

“We don’t have that problem. We’ve got order. There're rules.” Bucky leaned back on the coffee table and flinched when he hears it crack. He stood up, looking down at the wooden thing. “Sorry.”

“It’s old.”

“Doesn’t mean I should break it.”

“Tell me about the rules.” Steve grabbed an afghan off the side of his couch and curled into himself. For a man so big, he’d always had a talent for making himself small.  

“No killin’ religious folk like yourself for one.” Bucky sat on the edge of the sofa like Steve smelled bad. Or perhaps Steve got that wrong. Maybe he smelled too good. Bucky had tasted his blood already, what was to stop him from remembering that taste now and wanting more? The rules?

“No kids. We need kids to grow and we need—women to breed. Can kill off men, but we need women.” Bucky looked away, his face pale, but somehow Steve still saw the color leave Bucky’s face. Shame. He was shamed by vampire rules.

“I don’t wanna know the specifics,” Steve rushed out. He pictured the worst enough. He didn’t need to hear the actual horrifying tales. “You don’t eat anything except blood?”

Bucky’s brow rose, surprise flickering in the red of his eyes. He shook his head. “Alcohol can still get us drunk.”

Steve smiled. “Well, that’s good to know. I happen to have a bottle of whiskey I’ve been saving.” He stood up, a little weary from his blood loss. He pushed Bucky back down when he tried to stand and help. Steve didn’t need anyone’s help. Sometimes he wanted it, but he didn’t _need_ anyone. He’d gotten by just fine on his own. He opened his church doors every Sunday. He held mass to the sounds of silent pews. He waited at the doors, remembering how he used to shake people’s hands as they left each Sunday.

“Hey.” Bucky’s voice was gruff and behind Steve.

Steve opened his eyes and realized he’d made it to the kitchen. He’d opened the cabinet for the whiskey but he hadn’t moved since. He was shaking.

“S’not yer fault,” Bucky said.

Steve gasped, surprised that a creature like Bucky was so perceptive. Steve held his doors open to everyone. But he didn’t stop anyone if they wanted to leave either. He should have. He should have begged…

“You can’t save the world. It’s already gone.”

Steve grabbed the bottle of whiskey violently and popped it open. He slung it back and took a few hungry pulls before wiping his face and groaning from the burn. It sloshed in his belly, wild and warm. He couldn’t wait for it to reach his brain.

Bucky coiled his cool hand around the bottle’s neck. He looked into Steve’s eyes, red glowing at the tops of his cheeks from the—fresh blood—in his veins. His gaze wasn’t monstrous. If anything, it was the most alive Steve had seen anyone in so long. A body was near him, a body that moved and blinked. A body that, while no heart beat inside, a body that seemed to care.

“Easy,” Bucky said, grabbing Steve by the waist and steadying him when Steve fell forward. “You shouldn’t drink like that after I—after me.”

Steve could practically feel Bucky’s heart squeezing with the dejected way he spoke. Steve wasn’t the only person who blamed himself for the way things were. He looked up, eyes glassy and slightly out of focus. He needed glasses to read, but he could usually see a face, even this close. The alcohol burned through him like fire burned on a sea of oil. He reached up, touching Bucky’s face.

“Hey,” Bucky rumbled from his chest. His lashes were long, cheeks proud and that stubbled jawline.

If Steve could only kiss it.

Sobering for a moment, Steve pulled himself away. He coiled his arms into each other, pressing them firm against his chest. “S-sorry. I just—yeah. I shouldn’t drink.” He shouldn’t drink because then he felt like crying. Then he felt like remembering the faces he couldn’t get right. Did Morita have longer hair or short? Was Dougan’s hair red? Why couldn’t he remember the shape of Peggy’s face?

He stumbled into a kitchen chair, cursing when he felt a splinter slip beneath the skin. The chairs were old and spindly. They were as likely to break as they were to support. Mismatched and flaking off old paint chips to the dingy floor. He leaned against the wooden table, nose barely an inch away.

“I miss people,” Steve said. Rocks lifted off his chest. He breathed in, a full breath of air that he couldn’t just moments before. “I miss—so many people. I don’t even know if they’re alive or not.”

Bucky didn’t sit. He stood, the ever-predator he was. Or maybe Steve misjudged him. Maybe he wasn’t stalking prey. Maybe he was simply protecting it. Steve couldn’t be sure. He didn’t want to know. Both had negative consequences. Either he was a bird in a cage or a snack on the horizon.

“How long’s it been since you saw a friend last?”

Steve barked out a bitter laugh, one that shook his spine and startled his ears. He looked up, eyes swimming in his face. He was drunk. “I can’t even remember. Isn’t that the kicker? I don’t even know what year this is.”

“So when you think it’s a Sunday, you just go and prepare the church?”

“I stopped knowing which day it is a long time ago. But I never stopped counting them. This is day seven and that’s the Lord’s day. I don’t know the year or when Christmas really is, but I know the seventh day of the week.” He dropped his head to the table, longing for Bucky’s cool hands on his forehead to cool his heated skin. “I don’t feel well.”

“Bet you don’t.” Bucky pulled one of Steve’s arms over his shoulder and helped him up. Together they made it to Steve’s modest bedroom—a twin bed, a dresser, and a lamp. There were books scattered about the floor of course.

Steve loved books. They were how he passed the time. Art and books and prayer. Steve realized he’d begun slacking off on the last one. He knew God wouldn’t be angry though. God forgave all sins.

“C’mon. Lemme help you get out of these clothes.”

Steve, suddenly camera shy, blushed from his ears down his neck. He watched the way Bucky’s gaze traveled along the heat of his skin. Steve was a sack of blood to him, of course he’d watch the blood move beneath the surface. He bit his lip, eyes downcast. “I—I can change myself.”

“Okay.” Bucky backed off, hands up in surrender. “I’ll be out here if you need me.” When Bucky closed the door behind himself, Steve hadn’t expected the jab of pain in his heart.

Steve let his people go. He trusted in them, costing them all their lives. Sometimes good men needed to do bad things to keep people safe. Steve thought himself a good man. Now he wasn’t so sure. Would a good man allow his flock to go off to the slaughter? Or was he a coward who stayed behind, confident in the myth that it was bad luck to kill a priest.

What kind of person had Steve become? Even he did not know.

* * *

Steve shambled into the kitchen, eyes puffy and hair disheveled. He blinked furiously when he saw a half-naked Bucky. His chest, broad and delightfully hairy exposed to Steve. He didn’t even seem phased when he realized Steve’s presence.

“Thought I’d try to make you breakfast, but you really don’t got much left.”

“There’s oatmeal on the door to the cellar.” Steve shoved himself down into a chair and listened to it crack. He let himself fall along with it as wooden splinters and his pride cascaded to the floor unceremoniously.

“Woah!” Bucky was behind him, his hands hovering. He didn’t touch Steve, but it was evident in his quivering brow that he wanted to. It was truthful, unabashed desire to help someone who needed it.

Steve’s heart fluttered. He looked away, a smirk on the side of his lips. “I need new furniture. Or I’m getting fat.”

Bucky smiled too, the air around them no longer tense. “I doubt you’re getting fat with a pantry this sparse.” But then his smile vanished. “I’d uh—I’d walk with you to the grocery to see if there’s anything left but—” He looked down, his shoulders slumping in the way men’s shoulders did when they carried too much morality for the life they endured. Steve had been there too, just last night.

“It’s okay, Buck.” Steve pat Bucky on the cheek, an innocent gesture but it swirled something in his stomach. He pulled back, flustered. “I mean—I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have.”

“Touched me?” Bucky asked, his head cocked to the side.

“Y-yeah.”

Bucky frowned, his gaze going from Steve’s face to Steve’s hands. “You married?”

“What?” Steve looked at his left hand and for a moment, forgot what was there. Wrapped snug was a golden ring. Simple in design, just the band, no bells or whistles. “Oh no. It’s a—well it’s a purity ring.”

“A purity ring.” The deadpan in Bucky’s voice did not go unnoticed.

“When I took the oath to be a priest, I made a vow. So I made another promise.”

Bucky rolled his eyes, snorting. “Jesus. Catholics and their image. You know some priests had a thing for little boys, right?”

Steve’s face flushed red. Anger lingered beneath his chest, ready to roar and scream and fight. But what use was it to tell a vampire when he was wrong? Humans were no longer equals. They hadn’t been before. Racism. Religious differences. When had humans been equals? The tables had only turned when the vampires rose to power and snuffed out life as Steve knew it. He was not equal to Bucky. He was food.

“I never said my church was perfect. But it means well. And _my_ church stands for hope. I don’t expect a vampire to understand or even agree.” Steve clutched his ringed hand close to his chest, a hug in a way. Whether it was a hug for himself or a hug for the promise he made, he would never be sure. Bucky had a way of making Steve remember how lonely he was. To see a body and yet not touch. To hear another voice and yet not express everything he had inside. Steve was a bottle of champagne ready to burst, yet it could not. The glass would have to break before Steve spoke what was truly on his mind.

“I’m not—I’m sorry. That was insensitive of me. I know your God means a lot to you.” Bucky offered out his hand, an unsure smile ghosting on his lips. “Do you want me to help you up?”

“I’m fine.” Steve, ever-stubborn, helped himself up. He brushed off the remains of the dusty wooden chair and looked down to Bucky’s chest again. “Why’re you shirtless?”

“It’s comfortable? And I took a nap on the couch so.” He shrugged, ending his sentence with a word that ordinarily meant an explanation was due. Steve would get no such thing.

“Vampires sleep?” It occurred to Steve that he didn’t know much about vampires. He knew they drank blood. He knew they killed people—turned people. But Bucky wasn’t the monster Steve misjudged him for, however temporary that judgment was. Steve feared Bucky, but he didn’t feel as if he were quite as caged as he’d thought last night.

Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. He leaned back on the counter and crossed his arms, biceps bulging, veins raising.

Steve had to take a step back.

“We sleep. We eat. We fuck. We—oh that was probably too vulgar for you. That promise ring and all.” Bucky winked.

“You little shit. I ain’t so pure, ya know.”

“Not with that mouth you ain’t.” Bucky’s eyes rounded. He looked away, gripping the sink. “Sorry.”

Steve wondered what he meant. The word that Steve used or the _shape_ of his mouth? Was it wrong if he wanted it to be the shape? How foolish. He frowned. Of course it was wrong to want it to be his mouth’s shape. He made a vow to God, and not just to God but to his ma and himself and his entire life. He had made a vow.

“Nothin’ to be sorry about.” Steve looked at the open door to the cellar and then back to Bucky again. “I could go for some groceries. See if any shitty canned food is left.”

“Yeah. Sounds good. I’ll uh—I’ll clean this place up for you.”

Steve smiled, nodding. “Thanks. That’s real nice.”

“Sure.”

When Steve left, he felt like there was something lingering in the air between them. A whisper unsaid. A look ungiven. Something that screamed to him that the conversation wasn’t over. But he’d left all the same. Ending it and the life of that unfinished moment for all eternity.

* * *

When Steve came home, he carried one bag of sparse foods and some plastic cutlery. He never knew when he’d need it, but he wanted to have it just in case. He suspected most people when they went to the grocery to raid it felt the same. They took all they could and ran. The grocery had been plentiful before. The vampires swooped onto the town quick, leaving people with little time to plan their escapes. But now the store was hollow, a shell of American leisure. The vampire who ran it finally admitted she was only there to eat humans, except Steve of course.

Steve had stopped by the baby section, his mouth cotton. They were _breeding_ women.

Steve opened the door and stepped inside. He didn’t lock the adjoining door from church to home, but he certainly battened down the hatches on the door to the outside world. He only opened his church doors on Sunday and used the idea that no vampire wanted to kill a priest as his protection. Though how much time did he have left even with that? The vampires could kill the men. It was the women they needed.

“Welcome back!” Bucky pointed over his shoulder to the kitchen. “I fixed the chair.”

“You didn’t hafta, Buck.” Steve walked into the kitchen, smiling at the chair. It was wrapped in duct tape where it’d broke and the leg, now gone, was replaced with a stack of books.

“S’gonna be hard to scooch in n’ out but—it’s a chair again. I could—well I mean you could look at the thrift store and see what’s left there?” Bucky’s shoulders deflated like they had before.

Steve found himself reaching out and patting Bucky on the shoulder. He was sturdier than Steve thought—and he’d thought he looked quite sturdy. Bones made of iron, unbreakable and unwavering. Skin hard as ice.

When Bucky looked up at him, the blacks of his pupils were large, nearly swallowing the red of his eyes. He pulled himself back, panting.

“You okay?”

“I’m in a house with a human whose blood I’ve tasted. You want the honest answer or a lie?”

Steve was struck silent. He stared, watching how Bucky’s skin quivered over taut muscle. “If you—if you need—"

“Don’t you dare offer that again. I’ll only do it when you need it for your—your condition or whatever. But I won’t _bite_. A bite’s a whole lot different from me drinking from a cut.”

“How?” Steve asked, playing with fire. He could feel it beneath his fingers, the flame coiling around and tickling skin until it was white hot and unbearable. Kind and then abruptly not.

“Have you ever come, Steve? I mean sure you’ve got that purity ring but before you took your vow? You ever come?”

Steve thought of Peggy’s hand on his dick. He flushed red and nodded, shame pooling in his gut. He felt heavier, the weight of regret and chains clasping around his neck and wrists. It pulled him beneath the surface and he had to gasp to breathe.

“Yeah you have,” Bucky said. “It feels good when my teeth slip into your skin. Humans are so goddamn warm that I shiver all over. I hold you close,” his eyes dark now, “your beating heart so close to mine. I smell your fear. Your dreams. Your desires. I know you in that moment. All of you. I hear you. Every gasp. Every whisper and every hitch of your breath. I know when your lungs quiver. I know when your veins start to crinkle without blood. I know _everything_ about you.”

Steve didn’t care that his chair had a pile of books beneath it to hold it up. He placed his bag of groceries on the floor and briskly moved to sit down and cross his legs.

Bucky licked the side of his mouth, eyes glowing like they had the night before. “It’s the most intimate thing I’ve ever done with someone. More than sex. More than professing your undying love. And feeling them die?”

Steve’s eyes widened.

Bucky sucked back a sharp breath. His hands shook, face even flushed. “Feeling them die is the best part. Feeling their existence grow quiet and cold. Knowing you brought forth everything and took it away.”

Steve _had_ misjudged Bucky. He was every bit the monster he’d thought he was.

“So no, Steve. I won’t bite you. I won’t _ever_ bite you. Because if I do—there ain’t no way in hell I’ll stop. And I don’t know much about you, but I know that I don’t ever wanna hurt you.” Bucky hopped up on the counter, his big legs swinging, heels hitting the cabinets with a clatter. “I miss people too.”

A conundrum. An enigma. Bucky was both and Steve didn’t know the first thing about sorting out what that meant. Bucky was the monster in children’s dreams. Even Steve’s dreams. But that wasn’t his entire being. His vampiric nature didn’t define his person. Vampires were not zombies of legend. They didn’t shamble toward a single goal. They had personality, ambition and fear. They had wants and desires. Bucky _feared_ hurting Steve. Bucky _wanted_ to survive. His _goal_ was to atone for what he’d done.

“C’mere,” Steve said, voice hoarse. He opened his arms, his body desperate to feel the weight of Bucky’s pressed against it.

And Bucky did. He crashed into Steve, breaking the damn chair again as they both fell to the floor. He curled into Steve’s arms, nothing like Steve had imagined. Here was someone wounded, guilt-ridden and very much afraid. Here was someone who needed another, just as badly as Steve needed him. They needed each other.

If this wasn’t a sign from God, Steve didn’t know what was. He cradled Bucky’s head in his hands. He whispered soft affirmations to Bucky. _It’s okay now. I’ve got ya_. He held on so tight he was afraid Bucky would break into billions of tiny crystals.

Bucky’s lips brushed against Steve’s neck, but it wasn’t fear that Steve felt.

He looked up into Bucky’s darkened eyes, breathing heavy. Bucky made him feel things he hadn’t felt since long before the vampires came. His cool lips, just a whisper against Steve’s skin. Desire snaked into Steve. Thoughts far too inappropriate along with them. His mouth dropped open, eyes still transfixed to Bucky.

Bucky stared at him, shocked and lips apart. He straddled Steve where the pair sprawled on the floor. But his body did not even flinch. No breath even left his lips. He just—stared.

Steve’s gaze dipped to Bucky’s lips, a final time. With much effort, he yanked his gaze up to Bucky’s eyes and waited.

Bucky cupped Steve’s face, his thumb trailing the cheekbone. His claw came into Steve’s view for a moment and the thought of having his eyes gouged out did, in fact, cross his mind. Bucky leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Steve’s forehead. A cool, soft, beautiful kiss.

Steve whimpered, his eyes watering.

Bucky pulled away and then stood up. He looked at the broken chair. It was now damaged far beyond repair. “I could build you another if you’ve got the supplies somewhere.”

“There’s a lot of things in the cellar,” Steve said, breathless. What had just happened between them? It was there, as alive as Steve’s heart—and then it was gone. Replaced by the resigned look in Bucky’s eyes.

“I’ll go look.” Bucky walked away and Steve was left alone with his thoughts.

And being left alone with his thoughts? That was never a good thing.

* * *

Days bled into weeks. Weeks into months. Bucky remained at Steve’s home. He sat in the pews when no one came to church. He lingered behind Steve when Steve needed to cook. He opened up the wound on Steve’s wrist when Steve needed his treatment. But there was something between them. Something that kept Bucky from growing closer to Steve. It wasn’t Steve’s doing. He’d shared his story—his Irish mother and father coming to America for a better life. His stint in the military (“Oh so that’s why you’re so fit!”). He’d done everything he could to speak about parts of his life that wouldn’t bring up bad memories. He still kept his guilt bottled away and under so much pressure.

But Bucky never told his story. He never explained why he was in a frenzy when he killed a child. He never talked about how old he was or where he was from. He didn’t talk about family or friends. He only listened.

Steve did not know Bucky. And it ate at him.

Bucky sat on the sofa, tracing a claw along his plump lips. His gaze was transfixed to the television. Steve had long lost his subscription to cable, not that it mattered with the vampires all fighting to claim which stations, but Bucky had managed to get an antennae working.  He watched basic news channels and whatever else the new vampires in charge deemed worthless enough to go to non-paying customers.

Steve wasn’t sure what counted as currency now. Something had to, surely.

“They’re gonna show an execution,” Bucky’s voice was flat.

“What? That’s terrible!” Steve walked in from the kitchen, holding a can of unopened corn. He’d been resenting corn for a long time now—canned corn especially—but he realized it filled his belly and at this point, he was starting to lose the opportunity to be picky. Canned beets were next when the corn stores faded into nothing.

“It’s the new world, Steve. You’ve lived in this tiny house for so long.” Bucky’s gaze returned to the television. He sighed, curling up until his knees pressed to his chest. “That’s how they’d kill me.”

Steve watched as the vampires put another of their kind on a stake, silver chains around his throat and ankles. Steve supposed the handcuffs were also made of silver. The executioner had to use a cloth to touch them.

“How—how’re they gonna kill him?” Steve wished he didn’t ask. A priest would not wonder how a man had to die. A priest would pray for his soul. Would beg God to understand and let him into heaven. A priest would not stare at the man’s face—eyes wild and wet from tears. Steve performed the Sign of the Cross and sent up a short prayer to God for this man.

“They let him burn on the stake. When the sun comes up, he’ll burn. The newscast will film the entire ordeal and show it in quick time tomorrow night for the next nightly news.”

“How horrible.” Steve sat on the couch beside Bucky. He took Bucky’s hands in his own and made sure they were staring at each other. He knew his own face was flushed, but Bucky had no color to his own face. He was starving, living with Steve. Just more guilt added to Steve’s never-ending pile of guilt. Bucky needed _blood_.

“I won’t let them take you,” Steve said, his voice robust and confident. He spoke from the heart, his words his promise. His fingers shook as they squeezed Bucky’s icy hands. “I swear I won’t.”

Bucky smiled, looking back to the television. “You’ve been good to me. I couldn’t ask for a better friend.”

Steve smiled, his cheeks dusting even redder than before. He knew they’d become friends—friends out of necessity but friends nonetheless. But hearing it was another matter entirely. It’d been so long since anyone called Steve a friend. Since Steve _had_ someone to feel the same toward.

“Oh stop it,” Steve said, brushing the compliment away, although he treasured it deep within his heart.

“I really want you to know that you’ve saved me.” Bucky turned toward Steve, his hands squeezing Steve’s. “I don’t know how to repay the favor, but one day—I will. I swear it.”

“Buck.” But Steve couldn’t finish a sentence even if he wanted to. He winced, his hands flying up to his head. He curled into himself on the couch, wishing to high heaven that the local grocery hadn’t run out of painkillers so long ago.

“It’s getting’ about that time again, huh?” Bucky asked. “Lay your head on my lap. I’m a good ice pack.”

Steve didn’t argue. He snuggled up to Bucky, his head cradled in Bucky’s lap. The small relief wasn’t what he’d wished for, but it did help in a way, if nothing else than to know someone was there for him and cared about him.

“Aren’t you starving?” Steve asked, his voice soft to not hurt his head more.

“Do you want the lie or the truth?”

“The truth, obviously.” But Steve knew Bucky told a lot of lies. A wave of his hand, a shake of his head. He told so many lies to Steve, and Steve believed them because it was better than having the truth open and between them. Bucky was weakening from starvation. If he didn’t get a proper fill, he’d frenzy. To think Steve loathed lies once.

“Bucky—I trust you.” It was in itself a tiny white lie. Steve wasn’t certain if he trusted Bucky, or trusted the idea that Steve had created in his mind. There was the real Bucky, and the Bucky that Steve got to see. He didn’t know which one he got to see, but he was certain the true Bucky rarely showed himself. And if Steve did not know anything about the real Bucky, how could he trust him? Steve didn’t trust _Bucky_ , but he trusted the idea of Bucky. Here was a vampire who wanted to do right by Steve. That had to be enough.

Or why were they doing this at all?

“I’m not _biting_ you, Steve!” Bucky growled, standing. He paced in front of the glowing television, dark shadows casting down from the bags beneath his eyes, from the sharp angles of his cheeks. He still had all his bulk, all his muscle—but there was a gaunt sharpness to his features. A twitchy motion in his muscles.

Steve sighed, dropping his face into his hands. His head hurt, his heart hurt. His very bones hurt. He heard the room fall into silence and then there was a cold hand touching his knee.

“I’ll help you. I promised I would. But I won’t bite you, Steve. Just—just understand and trust me on this okay? There are things we just—we just can’t do.”

“If I ever wanted to die,” Steve said abruptly, “would you kill me?”

Bucky recoiled his hand. “Excuse me?”

“Answer the question. It’s simple.”

“Like hell it is!”

“If I ever wanted to die—if I ever wanted to just give up and go to God—would you kill me?”

“Go to God.” Bucky scoffed. “C’mon, Steve. You don’t believe in that bullshit anymore, really? I mean sure you do your church thing but you don’t _really_ believe?”

Steve furrowed his brow. “Of course I do, Buck. Without a doubt.” The words rolled from Steve’s tongue, easy and light. God would come before anything else in Steve’s life. God was there. Steve was lonely, and God didn’t have enough people to send, but he sent Bucky. Steve needed a nurse, but there were none, so God made sure Bucky was a vampire to treat his sickness. God knew Steve needed to eat, so God left food in the otherwise barren grocery.

“Oh, Steve.” Bucky flicked the white at Steve’s collar. “You damn fool.”

“Look who’s talkin’.” Steve winces through the pain in his throbbing head. “You’ve got an over-supply of blood in me and you won’t take it unless I need you to.”

Bucky tried to smile, but it was forced.

“I need to know, Buck. If I can’t take it anymore. If I know there’s no other way. Would you kill me?”

Bucky closed his eyes and let out a long, shaky breath. Steve knew vampires didn’t need to breathe, but they needed the air to push through their vocal cords, and sighs were just like any form of speech.

“I—yes.” Bucky grabbed Steve’s hands and pressed kisses to the knuckles. “Yes. I’d do anything for you.”

Steve’s body flushed hot. He cupped Bucky’s face, his thumb running over the bristles of his cheeks.

Bucky looked up with wide, innocent eyes. Red like blood. A vampire’s eyes. But innocent. Youthful and childish. He feared the idea of killing Steve. It was there, written in the lines of his face, the shadows of his lashes. It was written on his lips. Etched into his skin.

Steve found himself tearing up. He pulled Bucky into a hug and held him close.

Bucky remained silent, but his body was shaking.

“I need you to make it stop hurting,” Steve said, “please.”

“Yeah Steve. I know.”

Steve thought a vampire would be happy to feed off fresh blood. With human numbers so low, there wasn’t much fresh blood to go around. But then again, there was the whole breeding thing…  Steve cringed, pushing the thought aside. He offered out his wrist to Bucky.

Bucky unwrapped Steve’s wrist, letting the white bandages fall to the floor. After each “treatment,” he would put Neosporin on the wound, kiss it better (he said his mother always said it to make the pain stop), and wrap it in a nice, new bandage. Tonight was like any other where Bucky had done that before. He pressed his claw into Steve’s wrist and reopened the wound that now seemed to refuse to heal.

Steve watched, his body tingling all over. Bucky’s tongue slipping over skin would make his eyes flutter. Bucky’s lips would make Steve’s arm shake. It was impossible to deny the unbearable _want_ Steve had for Bucky. Their intimacy was there, on display for both of them. Neither were really hiding it anymore. Steve wanted Bucky, and Bucky wanted him.

But Steve had made a promise. He looked up at the cross above the television and whimpered.

Bucky’s tongue covered the wound. He’d mistaken the sound for Steve’s pain and did his best to soothe it away.

“Oh, Buck,” Steve whispered.

Bucky pulled away when Steve began to see spots in his eyes. He wiped his mouth and immediately stood to find new bandage dressings.

Steve, sat helplessly, a sarcophagus of emotions with nowhere to let it spill. He didn’t know if it was because Bucky was the first person to come back into his life after God knows how long. He didn’t know if it was because he’d been destined to meet Bucky his whole life. Steve was drawn to Bucky. Man with man or not, Steve didn’t care. He knew God didn’t care. People twisted the Lord’s words for their own gain, but Steve knew better. God was a loving God. If Steve was weak—well God knew that already. One could even say that God knew the outcome to this story. Free-will or not.

Steve closed his eyes when Bucky came back into the room. He listened to the twisting of the Neosporin’s cap as Bucky took it off. He felt the bite of the medicine and then the warmth of Bucky’s lips on Steve’s wrist. Bucky was always warm after he’d had some blood. He got colder and colder the further he want from eating anything.

“There. Good as new.” A white lie Bucky said each time. He looked up at Steve with a smile. “You okay up there?”

“I—” But before Steve could finish his sentence and spill what was already pushing dangerous levels of repression, a knock beat on his door.

“Shit.” Bucky stood up and ran for the cellar. They’d made their plan a long time ago in the event anyone came for Bucky.

Steve straightened himself up, adjusted his collar and prepared to lie over and over again to a person at his door. He opened it up, seeing a pair of vampires with glowing red eyes.

“Evening, Father,” one said. He was dark in feature, black hair and dark eyes that screamed more trouble than Steve wanted to deal with right now. “Nice uh—decorating you got here. Boarded-up windows huh? Think we’re comin’ for you?”

Steve didn’t reply. He looked to the other vampire. This one was much taller with slicked-back hair and high cheekbones. He looked the type to be the muscle more than the words. The other guy—the talker—he was the brains.

“We was just checking on ya. There’s a rogue vampire out on the streets. Frenzy. Nasty business. Those boards won’t save you if a frenzied vamp comes your way.”

“I know that,” Steve answered.

“On your way to the grocery like you always go with your little bags—ever see a guy who looks like this?” Chatty-Cathy held up a picture of Bucky—except it was old. Very old. Steve squinted and looks down at the date on it.

“1943?”

“He’s an old bat, yeah. Name’s Brock by the way. This is Jack.”

“Pleased to meet you both. And thank you for letting me practice with my church in peace.”

“Sure thing, sure thing. So—have you seen him or not?”

Steve made a show of looking at the picture again. “Nah, can’t say I have. Guy like that I’d remember.”

Brock’s eyes narrowed for a moment, his face a snarl. In the blink of an eye, his face was bright and cheery, a wide smile on his lips. “Well then! Okay! Have a good night, Father!”

Steve watched as the two turned and began going down the path away from his house. He hadn’t mowed the lawn in—well he never mowed because the church had a gardener but even the gardener had left. Now it was brush and overgrowth that Steve had to wade through and check for ticks each time he came or went.

“Oh! Before I forget. Father!” Brock turned on his heel, that smile on his face. A crocodile’s smile. “Remember who lets you live in peace. If you ever see that man, you be a good priest and tell us at City Hall. We wouldn’t want—things to get out of hand around here, with you opening the doors every Sunday and all. Fresh blood’s hard to come by in this town. It’s all brought in in bags. A beating heart like you.” Brock smacked his lips. “Mmmmm boy I’d bet my dick you’d taste like heaven.”

Jack snorted.

Steve smirked bitterly. “Amusing choice of words.” So he’d been threatened. Either he turned in Bucky, or a flock of hungry vampires would enter his church and suck him dry. It wasn’t death that scared him—the dying part. Steve closed his eyes, composing himself before he let Brock and Jack see his true fears. “I’ll do that. Wouldn’t want to upset the balance around here.”

“Yeah! Sensible man!” Brock stood on the sidewalk now. All busted up with vines and natural shifts of the earth. “Keep that balance in mind.”

When Steve went back inside, he slid against his door, letting all the air out of his lungs.

Bucky came upstairs, slinking around the edges and shadows of the house like the two vampire creeps were still outside.

“They’re gone,” Steve said.

Bucky checked the tiny peephole Steve did leave uncovered for safety reasons. “Fuck. That’s a tracker.”

“A what?” Steve asked.

“A tracker. They’re uh—like cops but more terrifying. A bounty hunter mixed with a cop.”

Steve stood up, sighing. “Buck. Are they gonna find you?” He didn’t mean to sound so pathetic. His voice wavered, his hands reached out for Bucky. He needed the reassurance that Bucky was still there, that all of this was real and none of it a dream. If one good thing had come from this, it was Bucky.

“I dunno, Steve.” Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead, his eyes closed. He lingered for a moment too long for it to be considered friendly.

Steve balled his hands up to keep from reaching out and grabbing Bucky. He’d made a damn vow! A vow that now whispered softer and softer. A promise that held less and less weight. God would forgive Steve’s weakness. God would forgive because that’s what the God Steve prayed to did. He forgave.

“I don’t want them to find you,” Steve admitted. He pulled Bucky into a tight embrace, one that flushed their bodies together. One that Steve realized his cock was perfectly aligned with Bucky’s. One that—oh fuck him. “I can’t lose you.”

Bucky’s eyes watered, or perhaps it was a trick of the lighting. Steve would never know. Bucky cupped Steve’s face, both hands on either side. He leaned in close, brushing his nose against Steve’s.

Steve whimpered, his feet wanting to lift and press their lips together. Steve wasn’t shorter than Bucky. On the contrary. But the way Bucky had Steve’s face. It made him feel shorter. Dainty. Adored. Protected. Steve wanted to stay in that feeling, revel and wander about it—feel the extent of its caress.

But Bucky pulled back. No kiss to be had. He sighed, his face became unreadable and then he was behind his walls again.

Steve wanted to scream.

“You’re a good man, Steve.”

Steve didn’t want to be a good man anymore. He wanted to be a bad one. One that broke his vows and betrayed his promises. He wanted to know what Bucky’s lips would feel like, pressed nice and tight against his own. What Bucky’s cock would feel like buried inside him. What his cock would feel like buried inside Bucky. He wanted to know Bucky’s life. His story. His history. He wanted to know why Bucky always looked so sad. Or was it really all about the girl he’d killed? He’d been in a frenzy. It wasn’t his fault. Vampiric law or not. It wasn’t his fault!

“Bucky!”

“Shh, Steve. Who knows if they’re out there watching us.” Bucky pressed a finger to Steve’s mouth and let it rest there.

Steve’s lips trembled around it. He closed his eyes and pressed a shy kiss to the digit.

“Oh, Steve.” Bucky pulled away, crossing the room and over to the sofa. He sat down, turning to face the television. “There are things we just can’t do.”

Being rejected had always hurt Steve. But it didn’t compare to the nails that drove into his skin now. Bucky wasn’t a schoolgirl that zitty-tiny-Steve had a crush on. Bucky _meant_ something to Steve. Maybe he meant more to Steve than Steve’s own life did.

But dying. Fuck.

“Bucky,” Steve said, an urgency in his pitchy tone.

Bucky looked up, his attention so narrowly focused on Steve that Steve worried he’d break into pieces beneath the scrutiny.

“Why not?”

Bucky’s smile was warm. He pat the couch cushion next to him and Steve dropped his weight onto the sofa. “Because you made a promise.” Bucky picked up Steve’s left hand with the promise ring. “And you made a vow.” He touches Steve’s collar. “And I respect those, even if I really don’t believe in God.”

“Oh.” It wasn’t _Steve_ per se. It was what he was. Not who. It wasn’t his looks or his height. It wasn’t his slightly crooked nose or his weight. It was his job. His calling. His life’s work. Bucky respected it? Respected Steve?

“Would you ever turn me?” Steve asked.

“No.” The word came so fast that Steve was nearly knocked over by it. “I can’t risk your soul. If we got ‘em. I can’t risk you losing your chance with God.”

Steve smiled. Because that was the answer he wanted to hear. Steve didn’t want an eternal life. He wanted a good life, yes, but not eternal. The only eternity he wanted was one with God. Or however God chose to have Steve spend it. Steve didn’t necessarily believe in “heaven” with the pearly white gates and the harps and angels. He believed in something. New life. A new lesson. A guardian angel of sorts. He believed in something, but not—heaven. God was an educator. But he was glad that Bucky understood what becoming a vampire meant to Steve.

It was something he wasn’t willing to be.

“Thank you.” Steve kissed Bucky on the cheek before going to his tiny twin bed to sleep.

* * *

Bucky was on the sofa the following night. His gaze glued to the TV.

Steve watched from the dark hallway to the bedroom. His arms crossed, his brow furrowed. He could see the TV and Bucky’s expression both.

The recap of the execution. The vampire they’d executed was already dead, but to Bucky, it was all happening right before his eyes. Steve could see it in the way he sat, all angled and on the edge of his seat.

Steve watched the vampire scream, his neck, wrists, and ankles bloody from the silver restraints. He struggled, he begged. He burst into flames. Steve’s gaze went to Bucky now.

Bucky, as usual, was unreadable.

“I won’t let that happen to you,” Steve said.

“I’m beginning to think you can’t save me, Steve. If the tracker knows I’m here—”

“But he don’t know y’here!” Steve’s Brooklyn accent slipped out. It hid for the most part, years of living in the Midwest now. But when he raised his voice, when he got careless or angry, it was there.

Whether it was the accent or the intensity, Bucky shook and snapped his gaze to Steve.

“Look—Buck. I know you’re scared. I’m scared too. But I’m gonna protect you. I promised you.”

“You’re running out of food, Steve. You need to start going to further out towns and your priest outfit’ll get you there safe, but the longer you’re gone, the more time the tracker has to search the church and your home.”

“Then you run. Come back when it’s safe.”

Bucky tugged on his long hair. He flipped it back, the strands falling in tousled clumps around his beautiful face.

Steve’s mouth went dry.

“They’ll feed on you. I can’t—I can’t stomach the idea of them finding out your sickness. They’ll keep you as a blood bag, Steve. It’s worse than dying. It’s—I can’t watch you fade like that.”

“You wouldn’t,” Steve said. “You’d be on that stake dying in the sunlight.” It was meant to be funny, Steve’s tone was light and sarcastic enough. But Bucky’s lips didn’t smile. They quivered, turned down.

The bags under his eyes were blue and puffy. His eyes dull. His face sharp. Bucky needed a proper feeding. He couldn’t stay here hiding forever when he outright refused to bite Steve. He couldn’t run when he grew weaker and weaker. They were backing themselves into a corner and they needed a better plan than this.

“Buck.” Steve got on his knees in front of Bucky and ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair to smooth out the tangles.

Bucky’s eyes fluttered closed.

“You like it when I touch your hair?”

“Mmmmmmyeaaahhhh.” Bucky leaned into the touch.

Delighted, Steve scratched his fingers along Bucky’s scalp. He worked his fingers through the silky strands. He let his fingers ghost along the back of Bucky’s neck. His stomach ached for Bucky. His mind wondered what it’d be like if they could just have one night together. Just one. Steve would never ask again if Bucky would agree. He’d promise.

But what would a promise mean if he’d broken so many others. Promises to God and himself? Would his promise even be worth anything?

“You need to eat,” Steve finally said, avoiding the way his body yearned so badly for Bucky that he thought he may cough. At least if he did, Bucky would just think it was his illness.

“M’fine.”

“Don’t lie to me. I let that shit slide before, I’m not gonna again.”

Bucky looked up, sorrow and regret shimmering in red eyes. “It can’t be you.”

“I’m the only person you got, Buck.” He slipped between Bucky’s legs and wrapped his arms around Bucky’s neck. “I’m warm and there’s plenty of blood in me. It’s nice and thick and it can be all yours.”

Bucky closed his eyes, visibly straining from what he was hearing.

“I trust you.”

“You don’t know me,” Bucky grit out. “You don’t know anything about me!” When he opened his eyes, his eyes were aflame with red. He looked more monster than human, teeth barred, a snarl darkening his face. A monster. But Steve’s monster.

“Tell me who you are. Let me in. I saw your picture, Buck. When you were human.”

Let the right one in, Steve thought.

Bucky’s body tensed in Steve’s embrace.

“You were human in 1943. Your hair was shorter. You looked so beautiful. Tell me who you are.”

Tears filled Bucky’s eyes. “I don’t—I don’t wanna lose you.”

Steve cupped Bucky’s face. “How could you lose me, when the worst thing I can think about is losing you?”

Bucky leaned into Steve’s hand. He pressed a kiss to the palm and shuddered. “Okay. I’ll tell you.” He pulled Steve up onto the couch, though from his body language, Steve knew to keep his distance.

“I was born in 1916. I had a good life with a good family and grew up the eldest of several sisters. Loved them all.”

“That sounds wonderful.” Steve smiled, curious if the story was too hard to tell because of how much Bucky missed his family or if the worst would come soon enough.

“I got drafted into the war.”

And then the worst did come.

“I saw some real fucked up shit, Steve. Shit I don’t even wanna repeat. I mean, you’ve seen it too. You had your own war. But I met someone. He was—older—but he was good to me. I looked forward to coming back to London and stealing away into the night with him. I let him—fuck—I hate talkin’ ‘bout this.”

“You don’t have to.”

“No. I—I owe you this.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” Steve crinkled his brow, ready to stand and let the conversation end, no matter how curious he was. The pain that found its way onto Bucky’s face wasn’t worth the story. Steve didn’t need to know who Bucky had been. He knew who he was. Kind. Controlled. Loyal. Safe. It wasn’t like either of them didn’t know how the other felt by now. It never was spoken aloud, but they showed it. Their kisses on each other’s hands, the way Bucky kissed Steve’s forehead. Their hugs and how much care Bucky put into bandaging Steve up after taking some of his blood to ease the thickness of it.

Steve knew Bucky. He’d been foolish to think he didn’t.

“Let me tell you my story. Please.” Bucky looked over at Steve with misty eyes.

Steve, however angry at himself, was powerless but to accept.

“He told me he was a vampire. Showed me his fangs and his eyes. I was a little afraid at first, but he’d been good to me. Which—always makes me so afraid of you.”

“What?”

“I’ve been good to you.”

“Well of course you have. You’re a good person.” Steve sat, bewildered.

“No, Steve. Fuck.” Bucky pulled at his hair and let out a deep sigh. “You trust me. You tell me you trust me and you kiss me and I know how we both feel but I can’t. I can’t do this to you too.”

“Do what?” Steve asked, voice raised.

“Bite you!” Bucky exclaimed, his resolve crumbling. “What I told you before—how I know everything about you. How I get every little fear and hope or desire. That’s what he told me too. And it thrilled me to have someone know me so intimately. So I let him. My neck was covered in tiny bites and I wore them so proudly. I felt invincible on the battlefield. I could kill every Nazi. I could save every ally. The war didn’t kill me, Steve. He did.”

That was the part where Steve’s heart broke. There, in the moment the light left Bucky’s eyes. Where his shoulders slouched and his fingers twisted into each other. Steve’s heart just simply—broke. He could feel it, wafting to the dark pits of his stomach like rose petals. Once beautiful. Once alive. Heavy with sadness. Broken with betrayal. Was Bucky scared? How bad had it hurt? Blood loss made Steve sick, so he could only imagine what it felt like to have it all taken away. But who was Steve kidding? It wasn’t the bite, it wasn’t _that_ pain that hurt. He imagined a younger Bucky in the arms of a faceless man. Tears in his eyes, confusion in his mind. _I thought you loved me_.

Steve grabbed Bucky’s hands.

“He didn’t even have the decency to let me die and stay dead. Maybe he felt badly about it the whole thing. Killing me. I mean. Because we die like that. It’s not until after we’re dead that they put their own blood in our mouths. I was dead. Floating somewhere dark and no one came to save me, Steve. I could feel myself—leaving.”

Steve started to hear his heart pound against his ears. He’d only then realized he’d been holding his breath for far too long.

“I never saw him again. I had to figure out being a vampire all by myself. I did a lot of bad, bad things. Took assassination jobs to give me a lavish lifestyle and worked for the wrong kind of people. I didn’t turn people though. If I killed you, you stayed dead. And fuck, Steve. I _like_ it. I like being what I am.”

“Jesus tells us to love ourselves.”

“Oh don’t give me that bullshit, Steve. You know as well as me that ain’t what I’m talkin’ about.”

Steve knew, but he didn’t know what else to say. What was he supposed to say to the vampire who enjoyed being a monster? When that very monster had been nothing but good to Steve? When this whole thing now—seemed like some sort of sinister lie. Steve felt used in a way. He was a safe haven and vampires knew to respect his church. So, of course, Bucky would come to the one place that other vampires wouldn’t follow.

“Did he tell you why he killed you?” Steve asked, throat dry as sandpaper.

Bucky nodded. “I was in his arms, my heart slowly going out. He said he just couldn’t help himself. That he loved me too much or some bullshit. That I tasted too good because of it. Who does that to someone you love?”

“Then you wouldn’t—”

“Do you really want me to have that chance? Steve, I could kill you. Right now even. I could take my hands and snap that pretty little neck and drink until you were bone dry. I could do anything to you. _Anything_. I’m faster, stronger and worst of all—harder to kill than you. And you just—trust me.”

Steve’s stomach tied itself in knots. He could feel the tears that rested against his eyelids. They wouldn’t fall. They were too proud to fall. He stared, a sudden realization that everything he’d experienced with Bucky could’ve been nothing more than his nature just telling him to court a tasty meal. To make Steve fall in love so the blood tasted sweeter.

Love? Was that what he felt for Bucky? Well it certainly wasn’t just lust. Steve longed for Bucky’s intimacy, but it wasn’t all-encompassing. He cherished their quiet moments on the couch together. Their morning talks where Bucky was heading off for a nap and Steve was just about to start his day. The kisses—on Steve’s forehead.

Steve closed his eyes. He felt like such a fool.

“You hate me now,” Bucky said, blunt as a rubber mallet.

“I don’t—know what I feel.”

“It’d be easier if you hated me. I wouldn’t hurt you just because you did.”

“No, you’d rather hurt me because I care about you.”

“That’s not—that’s not what this is about, Steve!”

“Then what is it?” Steve asked, whirling off the sofa and into the open space of the living room. Dingy rug. Small television. Cross on the wall. Mismatched art of varying styles depending on Steve’s mood. This had become Steve’s life. He thought it was getting better. He thought, oh no. Oh no. “I thought—God gave me you.”

Bucky’s lip quivered. He blinked furiously, but the tears clung to his eyes all the same. He too was too proud to cry.  

“Steve—there is no God. What God would curse you with a vampire that wants nothing more than to taste you until there’s nothing left?”

Steve would cry. He couldn’t hold it back. Pride or not. He wiped at his eyes before Bucky could see, only to feel stinging tears return again. “I guess one that’s abandoned me.”

He left the room, knowing that a questionably made door wasn’t nearly enough to keep a vampire out if he wanted Steve enough. In the darkness of his boarded-up room, Steve did allow himself to cry. He pushed his face into the pillow and shook with sobs. It wasn’t that he was upset about God. In due time, Steve would remember his loyalties and how much God had given him. It was Bucky. It was how they both knew they wanted each other—and Steve wasn’t sure if it was with pure intentions that Bucky wanted him, or if he wanted to seek revenge for the life he was robbed of. War and a wanderlust love—only to be met with betrayal and death. To never see the one you loved ever again. That had to instill rage inside his heart.

What hurt the most though, was that Steve couldn’t stop loving Bucky. He couldn’t ask him to leave. And despite the pain that Steve now felt, he still _needed_ Bucky to help him through his treatments.

It was all going to hell in a handbasket, and Steve was just skipping right along next to it.

* * *

Steve didn’t come out of his room for three days unless it was to use the bathroom. Bucky made him food and left it by the door. Steve would wait until he heard Bucky’s feet recede away. He’d come out, snatch the food, nibble what he could, put it back outside and the process would repeat. For three days, Steve nursed his broken heart, praying to make these feelings leave.

* * *

On the fourth day, Steve came out wearing his sleep pants and a loose, white shirt. His hair was disheveled, his face gruff with several days’ worth of beard growth. He smelled, he was sure of it. He padded out into the living room with his comforter around his shoulders, clutching it like a small child would.

“I miss you,” he said.

Bucky nodded. “Me too.”

“Do you really just want to kill me?” Steve asked.

“No, Steve. I don’t want to kill you. That’s why I—that’s why I keep myself from you. No matter how much I want to kiss you.”

“It wasn’t about me being a priest then? Was it about this? How you got turned?”

Bucky nodded. “I’m sorry I lied.”

It wasn’t like that was unusual for them. Steve would just toss it into the pile of other lies Bucky told him. Steve would forgive him anyway.

“I need you to—to help with—” Steve offered out his wrist and Bucky motioned with a finger for Steve to come closer. Steve fell to Bucky’s feet, his head hung in shame. He didn’t want to need this, but cutting his own skin hurt and he had to squeeze it and coax it out. It was so much easier when someone else just did it—and the way Bucky did it—oh how Steve loved it.

Bucky kissed Steve’s wrist before taking the bandage off. He paused, his lips parted, but his eyes sad. He lingered there, just staring at Steve’s wound.

“We could open up a different vein? Let that one rest?” Steve said.

“It’s not that, Steve. I love you.” He didn’t even look up when he said it. “That’s why I’m so scared, okay? I love you.”

Steve’s eyes filled with tears. He blinked them away, his emotions now too confusing to sort out. He felt like a pretzel on a bad day. All tied up, twisted and without any shape to give him guidance. He was bloated with feelings, confined with fear. The only things he knew he could do were actions. Words had left him, high-tailing it out of his mind and refusing to enter his lungs. Steve cupped Bucky’s jaw and ran his thumb along Bucky’s soft, soft lips.

“I’ll look for a new vein. I think that one needs to heal.” Bucky was already resigned to move on.

“Wait.” Steve grabbed Bucky’s own wrist. He kissed at the pale veins that held no living blood. He kissed Bucky’s fingers and the flesh of his palm. He turned his hand over and kissed each and every knuckle.

Bucky whimpered, his other hand coming to rest on the side of Steve’s cheek. “Please don’t do this.”

“Because you’re afraid you’ll kill me?”

Bucky nodded.

“Then I don’t think that’s a good enough reason. If you’re afraid of killing me—then I know you won’t.”

“Steve.”

“I thought that maybe—it was all some kind of game of cat and mouse. But it’s not.” Steve crinkled his nose, a ghost of a smile at the corner of his lips. “You’re genuine. You fear repeating history, you don’t want to do it again.”

“Steve.” Bucky was openly crying now, tears pale pink. Steve knew vampire tears had some blood in them. An undead body didn’t work entirely like a living one, Steve supposed. There was a beauty behind the tears, a softness that touched Steve’s soul. Bucky cared so much that it caused him pain. He was so terrified of Steve, when Steve this entire time thought he needed to be afraid of Bucky. Again, such a fool.

“I love you too, Buck. And I know you don’t believe in God. But I do. I know he’ll forgive me. For this.” Steve brought his lips to Bucky’s, feeling puffs of chilly breath on his face. He leaned forward, slotting their lips together. Fire and ice. Heat pulsing from Steve’s heart. Cold spiraling around Steve like tendrils of a greedy tree. He’d be ensnared in that chill, and he’d ask for more.

Bucky moaned into the kiss, his hands snapping to Steve’s jawline and scratching at his bristles.

Steve slotted their bodies together. He lay atop Bucky, mouths exploring, a soft, unhurried sort of way. They let their lips close, pressed against each other. Then they’d open their mouths and do it again. No tongues. No thrusts. Just shy kisses that tasted like salt and pennies. Bucky’s breath hitched several times over. He whimpered. He cursed. He held Steve so tight that it hurt. Steve would have bruises and he’d look down and love them. He’d touch each one, remembering who’d placed them on his body.

God, _God_ , forgive him. He’d wanted this. Oh how he’d longed for this. Bucky’s body beneath his. Their lips ebbing and flowing like the rising tide of the ocean. Heat mixing with the icy nip of Bucky’s skin. Even Bucky shivered.

Bucky picked Steve up and held him in his arms. He continued to kiss Steve, his teeth enlarging.

Steve knew one of two things could happen here. Either Bucky would put him down and they’d go about their time together. Or Bucky would bite him.

“Please,” Steve whispered against Bucky’s lips. “I know you. All of you. Know me too.”

Bucky stopped, his fingers twitching beneath where he held Steve up. “I’m so afraid.”

“You could never hurt me.”

Steve leaned his head to the side, eyes closed, mind relaxed. He knew what would come would hurt. He knew he’d feel sick. But Bucky _needed_ a proper amount of blood to live. He needed this to be healthy again. Steve had watched him deprive himself for so long, only getting bits and pieces of scraps when Steve needed to alleviate the thickening blood in his system. If Steve would die tonight, then he’d die knowing he’d helped the best damn vampire that ever lived.

Bucky’s teeth sunk into his skin, reverent and gentle. A lover tracing the curve of a neck. A whisper told among friends.

Steve’s eyes rolled back in his head. Bucky pressed Steve against the wall, grunting and slurping at Steve’s neck. He rolled his pelvis into Steve, cock hard.

Steve’s body was reacting in a way he hadn’t expected. First of all, it didn’t hurt. Not at all. Second of all, he was sure his cock was spouting precome. He rocked into Bucky’s body, whimpering and writhing in Bucky’s arms. He tried to reach between them to pull his cock free, but Bucky pinned him too tight.

Bucky’s lips were locked onto his neck, his teeth sunken deep. If he ripped free, he could very well sever Steve’s jugular. If he sliced anything wrong, Steve could lose the ability to hold his head up, to live, to speak. Fear crept into his body, freezing his limbs.

Bucky caressed a hand up and down the other side of Steve’s neck. He hummed into the bite, a soothing melody that made Steve sleepy. But his gentleness wasn’t long-standing. He growled into the bite, pulling back and looking down at the mess he’d made.

Steve gasped when he saw Bucky’s face, chin bloody, cheeks bloody. The tips of his damn fingers bloody.

“That’s all—from me?” Steve looked into Bucky’s glowing eyes.

Bucky sunk his teeth back in and the sounds he made were inhuman.

Steve could feel the telltale sign of too much blood loss. His vision blurred. His stomach cramped. He tried to lift a finger but his muscles turned to jelly. He was powerless in Bucky’s embrace. He didn’t believe he’d die. No. Not after all they’d said to each other. Not after enduring months of living together while they kept Bucky hidden. No, Steve would not die here. But he damn sure felt uncomfortable.

Bucky dropped Steve, wiping his mouth on his arm.

Steve could barely lift his head. He looked up saying, “B-Bucky?”

“Not enough.” Bucky dropped to his knees in front of Steve, eyes burning like red embers of a fire. A glow so captivating that Steve tilted his head to the side so that Bucky could feed more. “Let me hear your voice.”

When Bucky’s teeth slipped into Steve’s throat again, his body wavered, pins and needles cascading down, down, down. His cock jerking in his pants. He rutted as best he could against Bucky.

“B-Buck. I—I’m close.” It should’ve been embarrassing, coming from a vampire’s bite. Steve wasn’t sure if he came so quickly because it’d been so long or if the bite itself acted as a sort of aphrodisiac. Either way, Steve’s body coiled and then sprung loose. He spurted out into his pants, his promise ring burning against his finger. An angry reminder that he’d just abandoned his own promise. He’d broken his vows he’d taken for God.

He arched his back, crying out Bucky’s name. He writhed there, pinned between wall, fangs, and body. His cock seizing until it’d given all it could.  

Bucky pulled back, his eyes still pulsing red. Lips bloody and face more monster than man.

Steve rested his head against Bucky’s neck, panting.

“Didn’t—kill me,” Steve mumbled.

“Damn near did.”

“But didn’t. S’the important thing.”

Bucky frowned. He licked his lips, brought his fingers up and helped push the blood into his mouth. It was so foreign of behavior that Steve found himself staring. Bucky’s eyes rounded, but then he looked away. “I’ll stop.”

“No. Good. Eat.” Steve was finding it increasingly hard to keep his eyes open. “S’good.”

“I really ripped into you.” Bucky touched Steve’s neck and the burn that came from it made Steve hiss.

Steve smacked his hand over his neck and groaned. “Bandages for this?”

“Yeah. I’ll clean you up.” Bucky brushed his nose against Steve’s, his eyes closed. “Can I just—stay like this for a moment.”

“Yeah, Buck. S’long as you need.”

“It’s not that I need it. I just—you trusted me when I didn’t trust myself. And I thought—I mean I got handy and aggressive and you never fought me. You just—knew.”

Steve tried to shift with the cooling come in his pants, but his legs were too weak to scoot. He sat there, sprawled out against the wall with Bucky in front of him.

“I love you,” Steve said before his eyes finally closed and did not open until the morning.

* * *

They didn’t talk about what happened. Not the day after. Or the day after that. Not on Sunday when Steve opened his church doors. Not the day after when it stormed outside the entire day. But they didn’t need to. Steve knew exactly what he’d been offering. He knew exactly what had happened. Embarrassed from coming, maybe, but Bucky hadn’t seemed to care. So Steve wouldn’t either.  


The only thing that Steve did care about was that they’d taken this giant leap forward with their relationship, and then after that, everything went back to the way it’d been.

When Steve tried to kiss Bucky’s lips, he’d get his cheek. Bucky would keep kissing his forehead. The pattern was back to how it’d been before, and that drove Steve up a wall. He fumed over it in the shower. He fumed about it in bed. But it wasn’t like he was powerless to figure it all out. All he had to do was _talk_ to Bucky.

Not that Steve was great at talking—because he certainly wasn’t. Not unless he had the Word of God to talk about. But they sat, day in and day out, cooped up in this tiny little shack of a house with each other. Talking was sometimes all they had.

Steve sat next to Bucky on the sofa. He leaned against Bucky, watching for any hints of distress. When he saw none, he said, “Why don’t you kiss me?”

“I do kiss you.”

“On the lips.”

“Oh. I’m sorry. I just—I didn’t know how to go from there.”

“From me coming from gettin’ fed on? Buck.”

“Well you’ve got your purity ring or whatever!”

“Promise ring,” Steve said, correcting him.

“I just don’t want to be the reason you change.”

Steve found the sentiment silly. Steve had changed. He’d changed the moment a vampire came into his world and turned it upside-down. He’d changed the moment Bucky kissed his forehead. The moment they watched that execution together. The moment Bucky said he loved Steve and told him about his life. Steve had changed each and every time. It wasn’t reasonable to expect Bucky was the same either.

“Kiss me, Buck.”

Bucky did. Without reserve. Without hesitation. He kissed Steve so hard that Steve thought a bruise may appear. Bucky pulled back, his lips swollen and red. “I just don’t know my boundaries with you.”

“Well. I don’t know them either. So maybe that’s something I work out before we do anything else that gets me—ya know—coming.”

Bucky snorted. “You’re such a virgin about it.”

“Hey!”

Bucky laughed more, his face flushed pink, his eyes that ember red. They glowed and pulsed in the darkness.

“Don’t be afraid to kiss me. Cause I’m not gonna be afraid to kiss you.” Steve placed a purposeful kiss on Bucky’s lips for emphasis. “I want more. I just need to—figure it all out.”

“Take your time,” Bucky said. “Ain’t gotta hurry. I’ll wait for you.”

“I know you will. But I don’t have a whole eternity like you. So there’s some incentive for me to hurry the fuck up.”

“I love it when you curse.” Bucky kissed Steve, soft on the mouth. He pulled back and let their noses brush against one another.

“I love it when you touch me.” Steve’s eyes were closed, jaw relaxed and lips slack. He felt Bucky’s finger enter his mouth and explore it. There was something so tantalizing about a vampire’s finger inside his mouth. The control that he gave Bucky, the trust he needed to have. He let his jaw relax, allowing his head to be manipulated by Bucky’s hand.

But then Bucky put Steve on the other side of the couch. He moved his finger away and he looked down at the bandaged bite wound. “I know you trust me. And I know I’d never hurt you. But we still need to be careful.”

“Yeah. Yeah I agree.” It was a lie. Steve did not want to go slow. He wanted to dive right in and damn the consequences. He still believed God knew this would happen, or He wouldn’t have brought them together. Steve loved a vampire and that vampire loved him back. Bucky had fed on him and didn’t kill him. Steve wanted to dive into this and explore a world he’d deprived himself of for so long.

He looked down at his promise ring, frowning. One step at a time. There were plenty of things they could share that didn’t involve sex. Steve enjoyed kissing well enough. He’d kiss Bucky till his lips cracked. Then there was the blood drinking. Steve’s eyes fluttered. God, he’d never expected it to feel so damn good.

“Oh! What did you learn?” Steve asked.

“Huh?”

“When you bit me. What did you learn? When you learn everything?”

Bucky smirked. “You’re a beautiful person. You always have been.”

“That’s not specific in the least.”

Bucky shrugged. “Why tell you shit you already know?”

Steve pouted long enough that he got rewarded with a kiss and a whisper beside his ear to behave. He hadn’t expected the thrill that shivered down his spine at the word. He wanted to behave for Bucky, to be good and earn Bucky’s kisses. But he wanted to know what would happen if he misbehaved too…

The thrill was the unknown and the certainty that he’d find out.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on Tumblr [[HERE]](http://buckmebxrnes.tumblr.com/) I art and write and love friends.   
> Follow Umikochann for her AMAZING arts [[HERE]](http://umikochannart.tumblr.com/)


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